


Roman Military Practices

by Nightfox



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Intoxication, M/M, Possible DubCon Due To Intoxication, Possible Fluff and Lots of Fondness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:49:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightfox/pseuds/Nightfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leon doesn't quite know how he ended up bedding each of the new knights ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roman Military Practices

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the 2011 [Yuletide Exchange Challenge](http://merlinchallenge.livejournal.com/3644.html) but I never got around to reposting it after the fest was over.
> 
> It was a KMM based exchange fic with each participant filling a KMM prompt for the recipient. I filled [THIS](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/18397.html?thread=17661405) one.

  
Roman Military Practices

or  
Sir Leon's Lessons in Camaraderie, Comfort, Battle and Scholarship

  


o-O-o

Leon doesn't quite know how he ended up bedding each of the new knights but by the time he wakes up with a naked _Lancelot_ wrapped around him and his bedchamber looking much the worse for wear, he decides it's time for a little introspection.  
  
It started, unsurprisingly, with Gwaine. The point of that first night out in the sole tavern allowed to operate in the upper town was to get to know Arthur's newest knights. He was generally unfamiliar with all of them except perhaps Elyan with whom he'd been acquainted with most of his life but didn't really _know_.  
  
So the evening had begun with Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival, the Prince and his manservant, Merlin clustered round a table at the Rising Sun. Arthur had graciously paid for the first round and he toasted them.  
  
"To the bravest, most loyal men in all the five kingdoms! And Merlin."  
  
They'd all had a good laugh at the servant's sour expression, none of them believing for a moment that it was genuine. They all knew (Merlin included) that Arthur adored his loyal friend as much as Merlin loved his Prince; he was just less obvious about showing it.  
  
Leon loved his drink as much as the next man but usually he confined himself to general tipsiness and avoided three-sheets-to-the-wind levels of inebriation. Therefore it was a surprise to everyone but him when he wound up face-down on the bench many hours later. Arthur had disappeared long since, dragging Merlin along beside him, the servant sporting a happy, drunken leer as he pawed the heir to the throne with inappropriate levels of familiarity.  
  
The three remaining men had stood over him, loudly debating the best way to transport Arthur's rather tall, bulky second-in-command back to the castle. However, it was generally agreed on that as surely as they wouldn't leave a man behind in battle, they'd not leave one behind in the tavern. Leon vaguely remembered being hoisted to his feet by a warm, breathing, mobile mountain and propped against a spicy-scented bulwark topped with a swish of glossy hair. Then the mountain and the stronghold began to drag him...somewhere.  
  
Due to the natural angle he found himself dangling at, Leon's face wound up buried in that spicy swish of silk that topped the shorter man supporting him. The trip back to his chamber passed in a blur of scent and sound but curiously little vision. He didn't actually remember the moment he and his bed reconnected after a long day apart but since he found himself in her snug embrace the following morning, clearly someone had helped them become reacquainted.  
  
It took him several long moments though, to realize he was being held in the snug embrace of more than just a plush feather bed and fine linen sheets. There was a warmer weight than the fur-duvet draped across the bare expanse of his chest and yes, those were definitely feet tangled around his own. Large feet attached to rather hairy ankles.  
  
He looked down and saw a shiny tangle of nut-brown hair spread across both him and the pillow his head rested upon. A sparsely furred arm, smooth muscled and finely sculpted, stretched out over his belly, long fingers dangling over the side of his torso. Definitely male and definitely...

"Gwaine?"  
  
Sleepy coffee-coloured eyes blinked up at him and a lazy grin peeked out from the carefully cultivated scruff adorning the lower half of the man's face.  
  
"Morning! How's your head?"  
  
"Confused."  
  
"Yeah, you'll get that after downing ten tankards of mead. By the gods, you surely can put it away!"  
  
"I remember the mead, I don't remember much else. Did _I_ invite you under the covers or did you make _yourself_ at home?"  
  
"I'm wounded! You think I'd take advantage of a friend like that?"  
  
"Hmm, in the interests of future harmony I won't answer that."  
  
Gwaine fluttered his eyelashes in the most absurd manner while adopting a falsetto.  
  
"Lah! Good sir, it was _I_ who was taken advantage of by a dastardly and persuasively immoral man!"  
  
"Right."  
  
"Well, I might have been more than a bit willing to be seduced but seriously, it was your idea. You informed me that as Arthur's second-in-command it behooved you and your honour to follow his instructions to the letter."  
  
"And the Prince's orders were to _seduce_ you? Hmm...doesn't really sound like Prince Arthur. I refute your claims as baseless and unjust. Therefore this _must_ have been your idea."  
  
Gwaine rose laughing to one elbow.  
  
"No really, you mentioned something about the Princess following Roman styles of combat training and soldierly bonding."  
  
"Nonsense,” replied Leon. “You clearly took advantage of a man too drunk to think for himself. Hardly actions befitting a knight of Camelot. I shall have to devise brave punishments for you!"  
  
Their liaison hadn't gone any further but their friendship had definitely grown stronger from that day forth.  


o-O-o

  
A few weeks later, he found himself of an eve, toting a drunken Elyan home from the Rising Sun. Apparently the man had fallen out with his sister once again and had found solace at the bottom of a wine barrel. When it had become clear to the establishment's owners that the knight would be unable to navigate his way back to the castle without serious threat of injury, they sent for help. Their messenger found Sir Leon.

He'd gone to fetch his erstwhile fighting companion and found the shorter man a far heavier weight than he'd ever have guessed. It had been quite a chore to attempt to keep him more or less upright while dragging him down the street. When they'd made it as far as his father's forge, Elyan protested vociferously.

"No, no! Not there! _She's_ there! Self-righteous hag! Don wanna see her!"

With nowhere else to take the drunken fellow, he gritted his teeth and managed to drag the dark-skinned man back to his own bedchamber. Once there, he deposited the knight on his bed and sank down in the chair next to it.

"What happened?" he questioned gently.

To his amazement, Elyan had begun to cry and out poured the story of sibling estrangement. The knight was still haunted by guilt over his failure to be there first for his father and then his sister. Leon had been vaguely aware that at some point, Elyan had vanished from Camelot but he'd never known when it had happened or even why.

Of course, he'd known Elyan since they were children but they'd never been friends. They'd not been rivals either; they'd simply been born apart. The newly knighted man was the son of a maid who had served in his father's household. Inevitably her two children made their way in and out of the place on a regular basis but they were the children of a _maid_. He was the child of a Lord and was firmly instructed "not to consort with peasants". By the time he was old enough to question these strictures, Gwen's older brother was grown beyond the need to seek his mother’s skirts. However, Gwen had still been around and as he'd gotten to know her she'd often shared tales of her brother's wild escapades.

Then their mother had died and while he’d not seen Gwen much after that, he'd not seen Elyan at _all_. That night he'd learned why. While he'd held the grief and guilt stricken man in a secure embrace, it had seemed a natural extension of comfort to offer his lips in addition to his arms. With his first offer accepted, he'd given even more and Sir Elyan had found himself the grateful recipient of solace most tender.

  
The following morning brought Leon from his slumber with the buttery slide of dusky, silken skin against his own. Elyan appeared to be fast asleep but was rubbing against the taller man like a cat seeking stroking hands. He smiled and just enjoyed the luxurious touch for long blissful moments. Then he'd run his hands over that needy flesh and offered himself again.  
  
Leon shared his own familial sorrow and regrets the next night and found _himself_ the recipient of Elyan's reassuring comfort. A friendship that had never born fruit in their youth now ripened between the two and both were stronger for it.  


o-O-o

  
It wasn't long after that when the Prince, acting as his father's regent, sent Leon and Sir Percival to investigate claims of bandit raids on an outlying village. They'd taken a contingent of soldiers and departed with stoic resolve. Two days and nights on the road brought them to the hamlet of Winterwood. They'd arrived only hours before the outlaws attacked.

They'd been outnumbered but the disordered rabble couldn't hope to match their discipline and training. Still, the battle was hard fought and they took casualties but thankfully sustained no deaths before the last of the surviving brigands was rounded up. They'd be escorting the prisoners back to Camelot to face the Prince's justice in the morning. Before that journey commenced though, there had been the night.

Much has been written of battle-lust but outside the fellowship of military men, little is said. Sir Percival was a man of few words and Leon had appreciated that as they found themselves retiring to the command tent as the sun dipped below the horizon. The moment they stumbled beyond the flap of fabric concealing the entrance they were grappling in violent haste. Armour was wrenched off haphazardly and undergarments, breeches and boots were flung aside as they fought to find skin. Mouths met, teeth bit and tongues lashed. They rutted out their first release in a rough tussle of skin-on-skin atop Percival's cloak but found the beast was not so easily tamed. They both needed the clasp of flesh around them and so they took it in turn and by their third spending they were finally able to settle.

As dawn approached they rose and armed each other. The familiar ritual of tightening straps and adjusting plate was a soothing return to normalcy. Both men of deliberate speech, they neither one found the need for words. Their actions said all. Leon could trust this man with his life and more. He would return that honour to the depths of hell.  


o-O-o

  
Several months after the fall of the bastard Morgana, Sir Lancelot sought him out one evening in the armoury.

"Arthur told me I should speak with you regarding a matter of tutelage."

"Indeed? What's the subject?"

"Roman military practices."

Leon found himself in the humiliating position of choking on his own saliva. Amongst the knights, that phrase was code for the amorous activities they often found themselves engaging in within the boundaries of a chivalric male military organization. Frankly, he'd never thought Lancelot would be interested in such liaisons.

" _Arthur_ sent you? To _me?_ "

"Yes, I keep hearing Gwaine discussing it and even Elyan and Percival have mentioned receiving instruction but...no one's offered me any such tutelage. I fear becoming ineffective in my duties if I can't keep up with everyone else’s education."

"And you asked Arthur."

"Yes, I know he's far too busy with affairs-of-state to have the time to personally instruct me..."

The elder knight bit back a soft groan as images of writhing bodies, pale gold against deeper bronze rose in his mind's eye. Earnest brown eyes beseeched his and he realized Lancelot was still speaking.

"...and he said I should seek you out for instruction. He mentioned you were most learned in both theory and practice."

  
Sir Leon couldn't help the smirk that curved his mouth up to one side. Indeed, Arthur _would_ say that, as he'd been the young Prince's first tutor on the subject. He certainly wasn't the last and from what he'd overheard coming from within the Royal Pavilion while on campaign, he rather thought Arthur's manservant could probably outstrip them both for tutelage on the subject. Not that the Prince would ever let him. Their leader was quite jealous of his lanky manservant's attention.  
  
"Well then, Sir Lancelot, when did you wish to begin your studies?"  
  
"I'm free this evening and most eager to catch up to my fellow knights. You'll find me a most willing pupil."  
  
Once he got over his initial shock of surprise, the seemingly gentle, chaste and outstandingly virtuous knight proved a rapt and enthusiastic student indeed. A knightly battle ensued in Leon's chamber and brought down the curtains round the bed ere they made use of that cushioned platform. When the skirmish was fought to the satisfaction of both warriors, they drifted off to sleep in the heady embrace of sweaty satiation.  
  
So as morning once again found Sir Leon in the embrace of one of Arthur's newest knights, the fourth and final of those knights in fact, he reflected on the lessons both given and received in friendly support of those new to the Code. When he thought of camaraderie, Sir Gwaine's image rose before him. Comfort was the strong embrace of Sir Elyan. The strength of a brother-in-arms found him back to back with steady Sir Percival and the noble pursuit of military scholarship would forever be synonymous in his mind with Sir Lancelot's graceful form.  
  
He knew these men now. He trusted each one with his life and honour. He found them worthy of their knighthoods and he found in them hope for Camelot's future. Finally, he found in himself pride. Pride for being a useful instrument in the tighter binding of them all into this brotherhood they'd chosen. He could continue to face his King, his Prince and his conscience with a straight spine and a lifted chin.  
  
~fin~  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please note that “Roman Military Practices” is a _code phrase_ referring to man-love within the context of  this fiction. I make no assumptions about the actual practices of the armies of the Roman Empire (who discouraged homosexuality) so please no lectures. _Discussions_ , however, are always welcome!


End file.
